


His Aura Stretches For Miles

by tiger_in_the_flightdeck



Series: Elemental, My Dear Watson [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Elemental Magic, Gift Fic, He's as Scottish as shortbread tartan and highland cattle, John is so Scottish, M/M, Magical Realism, Sherlock Holmes and Bees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-18 18:51:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11296680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_in_the_flightdeck/pseuds/tiger_in_the_flightdeck
Summary: John has been trying to hide the fact that he knows Sherlock is hiding his magic from him. Which would be much easier if there weren't pixies and sprites pestering him, bees demanding attention, and Sherlock looking so terribly charming with a happy aura of power radiating around him as they talk





	His Aura Stretches For Miles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nocturnite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocturnite/gifts).



If John looked directly at it, he would simply see a little brimstone. A butterfly with green, leaf-shaped wings and delicate legs. But when he cast a sidelong glance, putting it at his peripheral vision, the creature lost its cloaking glamour. The wings remained, but the body became almost human, with a pointed face and thatch of mossy hair. 

“Stop squirming, little one,” John chided and dipped his finger into some water to try to moisten the tree sap that the poor creature had gotten stuck to while napping under a leaf. Watching the pixie out of the corner of his eye to make sure he wasn’t hurting it, John gradually worked it free. He laughed as it fluttered up and pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose before flitting back into the canopy of the tree to be with its family. 

After peering up into the leaves to make sure the little pixie had returned to safety and not run afoul of a bird, John picked up his water cup and returned to the house. 

John and Sherlock had been visiting with Sherlock’s parents for the last week. It was getting more and more difficult for John to pretend he wasn’t seeing Littles run around the house, or the glimmers of runes etched into the woodwork that provided protection over those who passed across the threshold. Even harder, was feigning ignorance whenever Sherlock glowed with power in the garden. Seeing how at ease Sherlock was with the plants and bees around him, John now understood why he was always so intent on studying soil samples wherever he went. 

Despite the glints on the edge of his vision that constantly distracted him, John couldn’t remember the last time he had been so at ease. Being in the Holmes household seemed to renew his energy, and months of stress was melting away. 

He wasn’t even bothered by Violet’s grouchy salamander. 

Much. 

“Let go of my shoes,” John hissed at the quietly glowing elemental who was wrapped around his foot, gnawing on the leather. He stooped down to grab the salamander by the tail and carried it to the oven. Cranking it up to gas mark ten, John opened the door to let it climb inside. “Only ten minutes,” he warned. “It’s too hot out to be running the oven.” 

“Who are you talking to, John?” 

Straightening up, and forcing the guilty expression off his face, John smiled up at Sherlock. “Just myself. I’m preheating the oven for a few minutes, so I can make some toast. Want some?” 

Sherlock was obviously not ready to explain his family’s abilities, and John was not surprised. He had enough trouble from people just for his natural mental abilities and social issues. John was still trying to find the best way to broach the subject. 

The Watsons were nothing like the Holmeses in terms of power. John could see the magic in the world around him, but could never manipulate or control it. The best he could muster was the occasional healing or finding. Which, he supposed now, when your best friend is a reckless idiot who often ran off without a word, could come in handy. He also found it an apt comparison to the rest of their lives together. Sherlock was capable of incredible, amazing things, and only John got to see that side of him while everyone else thought it was nothing more than one of his many eccentricities. 

John took the toast out of the oven, narrowly avoiding getting his fingers singed, and dropped them on a plate. “Honey?” 

“Yes, darling?” 

“You’re hilarious.” 

“I often think so.” Sherlock handed John the honey jar with a proud grin. He accepted his snack from John and perched on the kitchen bench with his feet dangling with the insolent manner of an adult who knew that he was doing something that would probably get him a stern lecture if caught. John knew from experience that Sherlock would probably try to find a way to blame his brother if his mother came in right now. 

“It’s supposed to be a lovely evening. Too nice to sit inside. I thought we could go down to the market to pick up some dinner for a picnic out with your hives.” 

The offer got the reaction John was looking for. Sherlock’s eyes lit up, shifting from grey to blue to green. Sparks of power snapped like static in his hair becoming vine-like tendrils before vanishing. “We can buy some treats for the bees. They haven’t had fruit in a while, and they are partial to peaches, especially the ones in the skep hive.”

“Well, I think we can spoil them a bit,” John chuckled. “None of them have stung me since I got here, and they’ve had plenty of opportunity. That calls for a reward.” 

“I’m fairly certain you mean bribe, but I agree.” Sherlock saluted with his piece of toast, speaking before he swallowed his bite down. “I’ll go tell Dad we’re going out. He might want me to pick up some new filters.” He hopped off the bench and wiped his hands on his jeans. 

Once Sherlock had trotted from the room, John pulled the oven door open and reeled back from the blast of hot air that hit his face. “All right, you. Go nap in the fireplace,” he ordered. Violet’s salamander groused, but scuttled down to the floor and out of the kitchen. 

John turned the oven off and opened the window to cool off the room, then went to collect his wallet and the string shopping bag Siger had given him the first time they had gone to the market. 

“No equipment, but he wants me to pick up some apples for tarts,” Sherlock explained when he returned, waving a shopping list between his fingers. 

It was such a rare thing to see Sherlock out and about without his coat and scarf donned like an armour against onlookers. He wasn’t even wearing one of his posh suits. In the warm, summer sunlight, Sherlock looked relaxed and comfortable in a pair of faded jeans and a maroon shirt with a university crest on the front. John was certain Sherlock had never attended the school and couldn’t even say if it was a real one. 

Elderly stall keepers greeted Sherlock like a long missed friend, offering him samples of their wares. Together they tested the ripeness of strawberries, stained their fingers on plump raspberries, and filled their shopping bags with produce. Sherlock was stopped more than once to offer advice to someone about a family squabble or relationship issue. He waved away payment but instead accepted a carton of fresh eggs and a basket of fragrant peaches that had still been attached to a tree the night before. People spoke to him by name, recognising John at his side from interviews on the news. They treated him with a respect that he was rarely shown in London, save from those he had helped. 

John saw Sherlock grin and laugh so easily, arguing with a little, wizened old woman about whether or not tomatoes should be grown upside down, his entire aura was flashing happily in a way it never did even over the most confounding crime scene. 

“Why didn’t you come back here after school?” John finally asked as they were sitting on a grassy verge next to the lane back to the Holmes’ house. He wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist, peach juice running down his arm. One of the many bees that had followed them to the market landed on his skin and began to lap it up. John broke a chunk of fruit off the pit and held it in his open palm. The bee was joined by several others and his hand was tickled by the flapping of tiny wings. 

“It’s so small,” Sherlock explained. He reached over to place a piece of apple onto John’s hand as well, inviting more of his friends to join the buffet. “There’s not enough people here to keep my head quiet. When I’m in London, there’s always someone new to see. I don’t get overwhelmed by the same bits of information.” His fingers moved in the air in front of his face as he spoke. “Here, I would be overwhelmed. Mr Dawson is in love with his neighbour, and always makes sure to save tea for an evening visit and to walk the dogs. Miss Lee is trying another cake recipe that will fail miserably but she won’t give up. The Lackley kids have been playing in their uncle’s shed again to scare their cousin and convince her it’s haunted. It’s not.” 

As if sensing their friend’s tension, the bees left their fruit to land on his cheeks and hair. They twirled and spun, dancing out information for him. 

**_Sweetness and safety. One foot due west._ **

Sherlock looked over at John, smiling at the way the sun overhead burnished his greying hair to a youthful blond. Clearing his throat, Sherlock shook his head and rested his chin on his hand. “It’s safe for a visit, but I’m not ready to rusticate my life in a place like this yet. When we’re older and I creak when I run, maybe. Not here, though. We’ll go somewhere new, where everything is fresh and I can discover the secrets at my leisure, and the bees will find different flowers.” He closed his eyes and leaned back into the grass, the movement hardly disturbing his passengers. They simply explored Sherlock’s hair, wondering why it smelled like berries when there were none to be found among the strands. Annoyed at not finding any more treats on Sherlock’s head, they took to the air to bumble around John before landing back on the fruit he still held. 

There had been a time when John would have blanched and fumbled for words when Sherlock included him in his retirement plans. He would have probably puffed up and tried to correct him. That time wasn’t all that long ago, he knew. But at that moment in time, with the faint hum of bees and the smell of fruit and the slight breeze stirring dark strands of hair across Sherlock’s forehead, John just smirked and nodded. “Somewhere quiet, but where your mind won’t get too loud.” 

Sherlock cracked an eyelid to look at John before a slow smile spread and he nodded. John always managed to understand him when no one else could. “Exactly. Where we’ll be the new strangers in the area that everyone wants to avoid for a while.” He turned over to his side and propped himself up on his elbow. 

“Because you’re out communing with your bees during the day, and causing minor explosions in your chemical shed during the evening.” John’s nose crinkled up in amusement. “While I mutter about weeding the garden.” 

Once again, Sherlock’s excitement manifested in his power spreading out from his body. His radiating aura sent out shoots through the air which tickled at the bees and explored the bobbing heads of fascinated flowers. 

His tongue darted over his bottom lip while John worked up the nerve to try something. He reached out with one hand and brushed a finger over the edge of Sherlock’s aura. It trembled and wavered for a moment before a tendril grabbed onto him like a creeping vine. As it wound around his finger and spread to his palm, the tendril bloomed to become a fern of leaves that spilled over the side of his hand to wave in the air before slowly vanishing into John’s skin. It left a soft, green glow behind until John closed his hand into a fist. 

“Maidenhair fern,” Sherlock mumbled softly before looking up at John. “How did you do that?” He sat up, and grabbed John by the arm. “How did you  _ see  _ that?” 

“I’ve been seeing it since we got here. I don’t know how I did it, but I wanted to try.” John opened his hand to see the faintest outline of a fern on his palm. “It felt much better than your mum’s elemental trying to take a bite out of me.” John gave Sherlock a nervous, crooked smile. “I always knew there was something special about you, but I never thought it would be something like this.” 

The bees had taken to the air when John had experimented with the power, but soon landed back on his head and shoulders. They had clearly claimed him as Extension Of Not Queen But Still Important. 

“You saw it. You really did.” 

“I saw it, and this time I observed it, and reasoned from what I saw.” John turned his hand so Sherlock could see the mark on his skin. “We both see things that others don’t. Because they don’t think they’re actually there. When something scurries along the wall, it’s not necessarily a mouse. Maybe that’s why we got along so easily right from the start.” 

John stood and reached down to help Sherlock to his feet. The bees darted from one man to the other to resettle. The green tendrils of power reached out to caress John’s cheeks and thread through his hair, the first time Sherlock had allowed someone other than a family member to see what he was capable of. 

“Come on, we promised your bees some peaches, and I want to try your dad’s baking,” John said after clearing his throat, and turned his hand over in Sherlock’s to hold it properly. 

When Sherlock’s fingers laced into his own, John squeezed them and gave him a little tug to lead the way back to the cottage. 

“Say, what’s a Maidenhair fern?” 

 

 

Maidenhair Fern

Brimstone butterfly. They're so cute I want to very gently pet their legs.

 

 

 

 


End file.
